The Reichenbach Returns
by Addicted2Books13
Summary: It's the first anniversary of Sherlock's death and John is having trouble cooping even more recently than usual. Now John thinks he's losing his mind, hearing voice and seeing figures. Is he really crazy or is this something else?
1. Nostalgia

A/N: My first Sherlock based story it will be short miniseries of nearly 10 short chapters taking place after Sherlock's death, and focus's mainly on John's coping. It also takes place exactly a year later upon the first anniversary of his death. I go canon so understand I don't place them as either ship or not ship, it's really your choice how to take it. I'm sort of impartial to the whole thing...

Disclaimer: I do not own Sherlock, and Mark Gatiss, and Steven Moffat are genius'.

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><p>Chapter 1: Nostalgia<br>He wakes up every morning in a simple haze, one where your in-between sleep. Where you can't distinct dream from reality and he walks into the main foyer a smile on his face."Sher-" He calls out instinctively but stops midway as it hits him and remembers that Sherlock is gone. For the past few months John had dreamt of Sherlock. He just dreamt of his same old annoying best friend who had committed suicide only a year ago and soon it would be the first anniversary of his death.

For months Sherlock's good name was smeared for all of London to see. It was relentless and even Lestraude even began to believe it too. Soon enough, Sherlock Holmes, the greatest detective to ever walk the Earth was renamed as the greatest criminal mastermind to walk the Earth and John was his accomplice. He was sent to Scotland Yard for life but was bailed out by an unknown woman. As he suspected it was Miss Adler whom he had tracked down to her grave later in the evening. She had no explanation for her actions except she said to him, "You loved Sherlock as much as I did John. I know he wouldn't of wanted you to live the rest of your life like that because of his mistakes. Sherlock doesn't have friends John, he had one." They departed on those words and they haven't spoke again.

Now after all this time, all the lies and doubts that had been placed in his head. On occasion Mycroft would come around the old flat and tell John stories of Sherlock's youth and what a stubborn little boy he was. He would restore his faith for a while until he would half to move on. Nothing had changed since that fateful day, nothing had moved. Sherlock's science sitting upon the table, the skull on the mantle, the bullets holes still in the wall with the same yellow smiley face painted on the wall, and leaning to the side of his chair was Sherlock's violin that he would often play a bittersweet melody on when he was in one of his moods.

Sitting down at in his lumpy old chair across from Sherlock he poured himself a cup of tea that Mrs. Hudson would have ready for him every morning. Opening up the morning newspaper the first thing John sees in bold is the reminder of the anniversary of his death. He then tossed the newspaper quickly aside knocking over the pot of tea.

"Rubbish..." He muttered placing a hand over his mouth.

"I hope you're happy Sherlock! I'm up here dealing with all the trouble you caused while you're duking it own down there with the devil and Moriarty. I know you Sherlock, I know you must be having a ball." He chided towards the chair...

"Trust me, it was a blast but it's nothing in comparison to solving mystery after mystery with you."  
>The End of Chapter 1<p>

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><p>Next chapter is coming up soo I hope you liked it. It's extremely short especially for me but I'm sort of warming up for a possibly bigger story. Please Review :)<p> 


	2. Dreaming Wide Awake

A/N: I'm taking this a different directions than it maybe have been conveyed I will update the new summary soon :D so for now enjoy this new chapter :D

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><p>Chapter 2: Dreaming Wide Awake<br>John slowly but surely got himself moving after such a devastating heartbreak. It was one of the first times he's left the flat in the last two years. He was slowly dieing and going outside did not the condition any worse. Grabbing the thick black cane John limped out of the flat and down the stairs to the cabbie that Mrs. Hudson had called for him.  
>"Where to sir?" The cheerful cabbie asked him.<br>"St. Bartholomew's Hospital." John said grumpily as he made himself comfortable:  
>"Hey..." The cabbie remarked," I know you, you're that Watson bloke. You were Sherlock Holmes best buddy! Isn't today the first anniversary of his death?"<br>"Yeah..." Watson mumbled.  
>"Wow what happened involving that man had to be the greatest scandal London has ever seen for centuries since to London Ripper. To be honest I believe in Sherlock. I knew a guy who Sherlock solved a case for, incredible it was!" This was a first for John someone actually believed in Sherlock's innocence.<br>"Thank you." It didn't make much difference though to the world Sherlock was still a mass murderer. The cabbie arrived fairly quickly and John stepped out him limp nearly bring him to his knees as he stood on the spot where Sherlock landed.  
>John wasn't exactly a holy man, like Sherlock he was a man of science but in that moment. John fell into his knees and whispered a desperate prayer to the Lord Almighty to bring the man he loved home to him. Normally he would go up to the rooftop try to imagine what happened up there or why he had done it. Every time he was met with absolute failure.<br>So John skipped the rooftop and grabbed another cab to the cemetery where he approached Sherlock's grave with caution. He stood standing while talking nonstop to him about how much he missed him.  
>"Did you love him?" John turned around on a dime with a startle. The child had surprised him and he almost grabbed the gun that was safely held between his pants and his back. Ever since that fateful day John had never seized to carry his gun around with him everywhere he went. It was always in reaching distance in the apartment and he slept with one under the pillow.<br>"Excuse me?" John said alarmed.  
>"Did you love Mr. Holmes by the sound of your voice you're very concerned and feel much heart ache?"<br>John was shocked at the mouth on the kid considering he couldn't have been more than 9 years old.  
>"Yeah I cared for him a lot." John responded.<br>"Hamish!" A woman's voice rang out in desperation. She walked up with trouble unable to walk in a straight line while wearing heels. She gave the air of a lawyer, or an business woman.  
>"Hamish don't run away from me!" Odd, John thought, he has my middle name.<br>"Sorry Mrs. Cartwright." Hamish said half heartedly.  
>"By any chance of God are you John Watson?" Mrs. Cartwright asked now suddenly turning her attention to him.<br>"What... Oh yes! John Watson here."  
>"Good, I'm Mrs. Cartwright as Hamish here has pointed out. I'm head of child services in London. And I'm afraid I have bad news. You ex-wife Miss Adler was found dead a few days ago..."<br>"Wha..." He said confusion all over his face but he was cut off.  
>"And her will specifically mentions that you take custody of your son."<br>"Irene had a son..." He looked at the boy and suddenly realization hit him hard. The bold blue eyes, thick black curly hair, and prominent cheekbones all said one thing to him, Sherlock.  
>"Of... Of course..." John muttered.<br>"Good because I have a ton of work to do so can you just sign these?" She went through her bag and pulled out a bunch of papers.  
>"Sign here please..." John signed the papers quickly. "Thank you Mr. Watson we will be back to make a quick check on the child." She turned to leave in a hurry.<br>"Wait Mrs. Cartwright! How did Irene die?"  
>"She was killed!" She yelled carelessly and escaped away. He looked to Hamish who seemed to be unaffected by the words.<br>"John Watson..." He held out his hand to him to shake. He just looked with confusion.  
>"Hamish." He didn't say his last name that was peculiar.<br>"And your last name?"  
>"I don't know Irene always told me I wasn't her son..."<br>"What?" John was a little alarmed. If Hamish wasn't Irene's son who was he?  
>"Okay then, how bout we get going."<br>"The place where your father grew up... 221 Baker Street."


End file.
